(Outing 1): Well then, first proper time out in public. How did it go?

Well surprisingly well really, all things considered. Of course technically it wasn't my first time out in public as I had gone out for a quick drink in a Soho pub a couple of weeks prior. But this time it was.... well... proper I suppose.

The first time I went out had been a real spur of the moment effort. I was at this little club called Muse in Soho for its Wednesday night crossdressing-fest known as Lola's. It's very handy as I can get changed on the premises and lurk underground at the bar all evening in a 'timid trannie' sort of style and for some reason on this particular evening I'd decided on a lace evening dress with a pair of court shoes and a new wig. As it turned out this wasn't the best choice I could of made, although there was no way I could have anticipated this before the event. Wigs, like shoes, seem to need a few wearings before they are really comfortable and as this was its first time out, this particular wig seemed to perch on my head in a very alert manner. A bit like an eager terrier The lace dress was more appropriate to the late 50s than the 2015s and as for the shoes... oh dear.

They'd seemed fine and the ideal replacement for the pair I'd ruined tripping over the podium of some whipping stocks in a dungeon in Sutton (not as racy as it sounds). I'd gone down like a sack of potatoes and found that I'd snapped a heel clean off. Of course this was bad news at the time and it had then triggered a long-term search for some replacements, the result of which were nestling on my feet as I posed casually against a pillar. Then, just as I was getting a little too comfortable Tina, accompanied by her friend Julie, came up to me with an innocent air to her "Coming out for a drink before it all starts?" - Ha, such a simple question but of course my ever alert and wickedly sharp intelect immediately detected the heavy sub-text, namely 'Have you got the guts to go out in public? Well this is your chance. It's all up to you now." 

Well what could I do. I'd been going to Lolas with the intention of overcoming my natural reserve so I decided it was best not to think about it but just say yes, put on a coat and follow the two girls up the stairs and on to the the very public space of Frith Street, Soho. Which is what I did - up the stairs and out onto the street to then stride manfully (?) in their wake to 'who knew where' for an excuse of a drink. And that was when I also found out that the shoes were a little problematic. They'd been fine for standing and posing in but when it came to walking I found that they just didn't fit. Which was bad news because they flapped badly and seemed determined to fly off my feet and as a result I found I had to clench my toes together, shuffle and walk very, very slowly. And with rising panic I could see my two guides and mentors merging into the crowd ahead - very worrying for me as I hadn't got a clue where the pub was or where we were going. So it was with a mounting sense of anxiety that I started wondering 
a. Had I gone too far to turn back? 
b. Could I survive the humiliation of being the 'obviously amateur' cross-dresser on the mean streets of Soho? 
c. Would my toes hold out?

However, just as I reached the point of no return Tina must have realised I was lagging and emerged from the crowds to find out what the problem was. With her and Julie each side I was then accompanied into The French House like a crippled merchantman being escorted into Valetta harbour by a couple of valiant destroyers. Of all the emotions I expected to feel on entering a public house dressed en femme, relief wasn't one of them. Fear, anxiety, embarrassment maybe. Relief definitely not...

Well we had our drinks, a photo or two was taken and most of my internal dialogue was spent around the issues of the return journey. Could I make it bck?; Should I take the shoes off?; Should I sacrifice myself and insist my colleagues go ahead without me? (I'll be fine... just listen for the single shot...). Well, drinks were finished and then off we went back into the evening with me acting out my biggest fear the obviously inexperienced and rather pathetic looking trannie clip-cloping her way down the road. I'd never wanted to be that  trannie, but there you go. Still I got back in one piece feeling relieved and rather pleased with myself but it definitely wasn't the way I'd wanted it to be. I'd been caught on the hop, unprepared and I'd let the circumstances get to me. The next time I went out I'd actually plan for it, be prepared and definitely not be wearing ill-fitting shoes. Which is sort of what happened the next time I went out with Tina, a couple of weeks later....